


Lumiere and Plumette: Kidnapped

by noblewriting



Category: Beauty and the Beast (2017), Beauty and the Beast - All Media Types
Genre: And by "Drama" I mean the kind Lumiere creates himself because he's theatrical like that, F/M, Immense Drama, Kidnapping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-19
Updated: 2017-07-27
Packaged: 2018-10-20 18:34:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10668420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noblewriting/pseuds/noblewriting
Summary: "Can you write a story where Plumette is kidnapped and Lumiere won't rest until he finds her please?" Okay, Molly, let's do this. Ongoing fic.





	1. Gone

Plumette is not in the palace. And not in the gardens, either—Lumiere already checked there, and while in previous fits of poetry he would have claimed she blended in with the rest of nature’s beauty, it was clear now she wasn’t disguised as a rose or hydrangea. Chip, returning from the village, confirmed she wasn’t there, either.

Plumette just…wasn’t.

“I’m sure she’s just gone off on a solo adventure, Lumiere,” Belle said with a smile. Belle was like that—going off by herself into the woods, and coming back smirched with berries and needing Adam to pluck out that day’s thorns. (She didn’t need him to, not really, but he liked to feel that he could help.) But Plumette had never been that way. She liked her solitary moments, yes, but she would always let Lumiere know where and when she was going, or he would simply know the way two friends who loved each other so deeply _could_ just know.

He didn’t know now, though. And it troubled him. And trouble, in his mind, always took on the shape of drama.

“Think about where you last saw her,” said Cogsworth.

“Mon ami, she isn’t _still_ an object,” said Lumiere. “I can’t just _leave_ her places. She has feet of her own.”

“Retrace your steps and maybe you’ll come across her,” said Mrs. Potts.

“Again. Not an object.”

“Yell her name really, really loudly,” said Chip. “And bang some pots together.”

“Now, there at last is a reasonable suggestion,” said Lumiere, and did so.

An hour of Lumiere yelling “PLUMETTE! _PLUMETTE?!”_ and throwing pans together was more than enough to rouse the entire castle to his cause. Cogsworth organized search parties, with the ultimate goal, he said, being more to find the means to shut the maître'd up then to locate the maid. Mrs. Potts asked all the servants to report to her with where and when they had last seen Plumette. Chapeau, in his infinite wisdom, decided that this would be the day he took his vacation, and quietly left for the countryside without a word to anybody.

But nobody did as much good as Madame de Garderobe.

“What a glorious ball we had last night!” cried the opera singer. “Such a grand to-do, such international personalities!”

“Yes, madame, we know,” said Cogsworth. “But we are rather pressed at the moment with other matters.”

“Did you see how he glowered at Lumiere for dancing with Plumette?”

“How did who do the what?” said Cogsworth.

“And oh! How furious he looked, and dramatic in that great black mask.”

“The what looked how and then?”

“And—oh! I had quite forgotten—how dramatic, to give me this note! Quite the personality,” and Garderobe took out a scrap of foolscap that looked rather worse for having been tucked into her petticoats.

Cogsworth snatched the note and read.

_You will not see her tonight, or any other night. I have waited long enough; you have had her for too long. I do not know what caused me to forget her—but I have remembered, and I cannot live without her another day. I will take her from your black magic and back into my own. –S_

* * *

 

Lumiere’s reaction to the note was not….understated. The palace residents would like to have avoided watching his outburst, but a master performer will not be left alone.

“My lord, he followed me into the pantry, sobbing like the world was fit to break,” said Mrs. Potts.

“Sobbing? That’s not the word I would have used. Setting things on fire and making grand speeches about revenge and duty are not extravagances I would term sobbing,” said Cogsworth. “I tried to head him off to the butler’s pantry. No use.”

“Oh for goodness’ sake, don’t exaggerate,” said Belle. “He wasn’t making grand speeches when I saw him last. He was just gathering together the most unusual assemblage of overdramatic supplies—masks, and big brooding capes, and swords nobody uses anymore.”

“Speaking of seeing him last,” said Adam, “when _did_ we see him last?”

The palace looked around. Lumiere…wasn’t.


	2. The Quest Begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plumette is kidnapped. Lumiere will be a hero. The rest of the staff....they're working on it.

Lumiere hadn’t ridden a horse in years, but it came back fairly quickly once you got going, and Lumiere had definitely gotten going—throwing himself into a full gallop across the woods and into the village and straight to the mountains beyond. Because you couldn’t be a brave and valiant rescuer without the proper look, he had ditched his courtly garb into a bush and adopted a black cloak (with red satin lining! The lining was very important—for swooshing moments) and a large, feathery hat, with big white feathers sticking up. He had thrown on a mask as well, because if black-masked villains could take his Plumette, black-masked heroes could take her back again. The boots didn’t quite fit—he had swiped them from Adam’s old collection—but they were big and buckled, and that was really the only standards he had set for them.

Now, his standards for this trip: those were different.

Obviously, he didn’t know where he was going. He knew, the way all passionate lovers know these things, that his heart would lead him to Plumette. But he also knew that the cursive script the writer of the note had used was a certain type taught in Italy, the kind of foolscap the villain used was only found in the southern region, and anybody who signed their note with such an utter lack of curlicues was a dastardly villain who had been raised so wealthy that he felt no need to add additional social pretension to his missives.

Lumiere always put in extra curlicues when he wrote, as well as small doodles in the margins and poetry in the postscripts. That such a man who didn’t do that now held power over his Plumette made his hair stand on end. Thank god he had packed extra swords—once he was done slaying the rogue with his rapier, he could move into the longsword and the katana. He had no training in them, but he was sure it would all work out in the end.

* * *

 

“I mean, I knew he was overdramatic, but I didn’t think he was _this_ overdramatic,” said Belle. Everyone sat in the kitchen, sharing tea and angst.

“Plumette will think his rescue the most charming thing in the world, though,” said Adam. “Suave, debonair. I can’t fault him for being himself to the best of his ability.”

“Did you read this note?! The man’s _insane_ ,” said Belle. “‘Into my black magic’? ‘You will not see her tonight, or any other night’? Whoever managed to get past Cogsworth’s guest list and through the whole palace with Plumette in tow is a terror. Not to mention a bit overkill, if he had to leave this with Madame de Garderobe. If I was kidnapping someone, I wouldn’t leave any evidence.”

“Do you plan kidnappings frequently, my dear?”

“Lumiere can’t do this alone,” huffed Cogsworth. “He’s a genius, yes, and definitely a terrific dancer, but also a fool with absolutely no military training. He’s fit to die out there.”

“What has his dancing got to do with anything—” began Belle, but Cadenza cut her off.

“He is driven by _amore_ ,” said the musician. “He will do anything for love! As would any of us,” and he leaned against Garderobe with a lovestruck look that told everyone he would be useless for the rest of the day.

“It doesn’t matter if it’s _with_ love, or _for_ insanity, or because he’s got great legs,” said Mrs. Potts. “The major domo is right when he says he can’t do it alone. We’ve got to help the poor boy.”

“But what can we do?” said a serving maid. Serving maids have an excellent disposition for asking pertinent questions before fading into the background again.

“We all have useful skills,” said Belle. She had “the look” in her eyes again—Adam had seen it before when she decided to rearrange the entire library’s cataloging system, and he loved it. It was the look of _I Will Do This and You Will Help, Or I Will End You And Then You Will Help._ “We usually just apply them to our affairs around the palace, but maybe we can use them now to help Lumiere long-distance. Cogsworth, you’ve studied military strategy, haven’t you?”

“Yes ma’am. Also local history, advanced weaponry, elemental geography, higher tactic development, introductory locksmithing, and the art of cheesemaking—”

“Right, well, I think the strategy will be enough for now. Mrs. Potts, you know….erm, you know tea. I know that much. What else do you know?”

“Dearie! I’m flattered you asked.” Mrs. Potts sat down. “Now, I’m not sure how much you all know about undercover espionage, but in my younger days…”


	3. Aid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lumiere continues his quest to find and rescue the kidnapped Plumette. The staff continues their quest to make sure he doesn't accidentally kill himself in the process.

He had been galloping for about 8 hours straight now, and it had just occurred to him that, as fabulous and romantic as the heroes of adventures were, they never seemed to get intense lower back pain. They also never seemed to get hungry, or need sleep. But Lumiere needed these things—unfortunately, he was only human.

Weaving through the forest, he slowed down and pulled himself off the horse— _thank god_ , the horse's eyes seemed to say—and collapsed beneath a tree, back to the ground, his face searching the sky. _Sometimes_ , he thought, his back throbbing with all the pain that comes from muscles and bones, _I wish I was a candelabra again. I wouldn't need sleep, then. Or food. I could go the whole night, and never fear the dark. But I would still need Plumette...._

The sky tipped and flushed, and he almost passed out. Almost. Something clanked far too close by.

He was up again, hands finding the rapier, his eyes ( _weak! human! eyes!_ ) searching the twilight. " _Il y a quelqu'un?_ Who is here?"

 **Clank** , went the noise. And something whirred—not behind the trees of the forest, but above him. A demon was descending from above.

 ** _Clank_** , went the demon. And with a crash, something ticking and steaming crashed beside the man.

"Sacre bleau," he whispered, and stared at the thing. It was made of—well, actually, it was made of kitchen appliances, familiar things he had handled many times before. A sieve, tied to a hairbrush; here was a whisk, and there a small pot he was certain he had kept mustard in. Wires and cogs stuck out in between this collection of items, and its small wings—made out of old book covers Lumiere recognized from the pile of outdated medical manuals Belle had thrown out a few days before—fluttered pitifully. It was some sort of flying machine, made out of the objects of the palace he loved.

Lumiere carefully picked it up—the thing was so battered he almost wanted to whisper to it, like some wounded creature—and felt inside the mustard-pot. Aha! As he had thought: papers from the palace.

 _Lumiere, you utter fool,_ said Cogsworth's familiar writing. _You know you should have brought me along; you've gone gallivanting off with no concept of what to do or how to do it, as per usual. Thank god someone around here knows how to make flying-machines to come and save your skin._

 _Actually, it's my first attempt at a flying machine,_ said Belle's handwriting, round and sloping.  _Lumiere, listen, we can't stop you—Adam's made that quite clear—but you've got us to help you, all right? We've packed some things in here to help you, and you can call us if you need help. It needs perfecting, but this machine can also serve as a rudimentary telegraph device._

"A what?" said Lumiere, and looked again at the machine. He knew the mistress was ahead of her time, but this felt about a century too soon. 

_Just press the button on the side if you need help,_ Belle's writing continued. _We're like headquarters: you do your questing, rescuing, heroing thing, and we'll help you from back here. Meanwhile, look at the other things we've packed._

His fingers dug deeper into the pot. A handkerchief came sliding out.

_If you look closely at the handkerchief, you can see we've put a map on it. The maps in the library aren't as detailed as we'd like, so we had Garderobe help us fill in the relevant parts, and then my father drew it out for you. Cadenza took a look at the note the kidnapper left, and confirmed it comes from the south of Italy; he thinks if you head to Venice, you'll be able to find your villain pretty quickly, because that's where the elites would go this time of year, and with the carnival coming on the kidnapper would have a great way to hide from justice._

"Bless the musicians," said Lumiere, and smiled to think of Cadenza and Garderobe speaking excitedly of their native land, reliving over again their famous tours and royal successes. 

_Inside the handkerchief, you'll find a snuffbox. DO NOT USE THE SNUFF._

Lumiere had been about to take a pinch. He dropped the box with haste.

 _Mrs. Potts is being unusually enigmatic, but I think it might be poisonous. Lumiere, did you know she was a SPY?! I understand why you wouldn't tell me I was living in a cursed palace that could only be cured through the power of true love, but, c'mon—you could have at least clued me into_ that _._

A spy? Huh. Why wasn't he surprised. He should have known when he and Plumette could never find a place to tryst without the dear lady showing up. 

_She won't say why she packed the snuff except that it's important. She also wrote you a note in code, which I assume has further instructions on the whole espionage deal._

Another note. _This mustard pot contains a good deal more than it would seem to_ , thought Lumiere. 

_Belle's hand is tired out so I'm taking over,_ said Adam's writing—cramped and pointy, crashing all over the page. _Cogsworth is as invaluable as ever, and has come up with a list of potential suspects from the party last night. He would have attached it here, but when we tried to get it on the machine wouldn't even lift off the ground. Trust me when I say it is extensive._

Lumiere wished his eyes could roll higher than his head. 

_We'll send it on in its own flying machine—Belle has gone down to the village to borrow more supplies so she can build more. In the meantime, know that I've reached out to some old acquaintances who should be along your path. I haven't talked to them in years—they're the old sort of people I used to associate with, you know, powdered and pinched—but I asked them to welcome you if you land at any of their doors. So if you see a pretentious mansion, know you can crash there for the night. It breaks my heart to think of you trying to make your bed in a bramble-bush, Lumiere. It's not your thing at all._

"Mon dieu, he has grown thoughtful," said Lumiere.

" _Good luck, my friend! We are all thinking of you and Plumette. Rescue her with your usual panache, but try not to get killed in the process. We'd have to eat our dinners without a song-and-dance without you, and where would we be then."_

"Those poor souls," said Lumiere. "I hadn't thought of that." Eating dinner without fireworks!? The madness. He would have to be more careful, for their sakes. 

With care he packed up the items, stuffing the machine into his satchel and taking great care to put the snuffbox somewhere where he couldn't get to it. He had become somewhat addicted to the stuff following the curse—he just loved the sneezing sensation, that was all—though Mrs. Potts had told him off for leaving powder everywhere. How ironic to put poison in the form of a habit she insisted he drop! Ah, well, she probably put it there to save his skin. Later on he could use it against the villain who held Plumette, as a trick—and then get some proper snuff, once Plumette was good and saved, and sneeze with that.

Feeling restored, Lumiere swung back onto his horse. Forward, ever forward! His friends were behind him, Plumette somewhere ahead. He would save her, come what may. Being the hero of the adventure wasn't so bad, after all.

 


	4. The Plot Thickens, A Bit Like Oatmeal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lumiere reaches Venice, the location of Plumette's mysterious kidnapper (and, he hopes, the location of Plumette herself). Back in France, Belle works on some minor technology to help him out from afar. Adam, I fear, needs a hug.

VENICE. It had taken many broken nights and sleepless days—ooh, Lumiere adored sleeping in back home, how he missed warm bedsheets and the sun hitting him in the eyes and Plumette's body cozied in beside him—but he had done it, him and the horse and the cape and the mask, and they were finally here, just as the moon came out. Carnival-time, in Venice.

Making his way through the streets—wait, no, that was a canal, back up—making his way through the streets, now somewhat wet, Lumiere looked at the faces thronging and laughing around him. Masks were everywhere: glaring demon's faces, blank angels, rich and poor all covered and hidden. The kidnapper could be right beside him now and he would never know.

But I will always know Plumette, thinks Lumiere. Whether she has the face of a peacock or her own sweet human one, I know it. Of that I have no doubt.

He tries to make himself inconspicuous, though the loud clanks coming from his satchel don't help the matter. Since the first one, he's had four flying-machines from the palace: this one loaded with Cogsworth's list of suspects—at least as long as the list of residents in lower Italy—that one with slices of cheese Chip thought he might be missing. (He _had_ been missing the cheese. It was promptly eaten, and he waved a thumbs-up at the sky, hoping somehow Chip understood the karmic significance of this act of budding gourmet-ship.) All the machines were full of advice, hints, helpful encouragements; no matter the state of affairs here in Venice, at least back in the palace they are watching out for him.

* * *

 

Or, as a matter of fact, directly watching him.

"Sending him that cheese was a clever idea," says Belle, and grins at Chip. The whole staff is curled up in the library, ignoring the late hour, crowded around a table full of Belle's gadgets all fizzing and whizzing around them.

Since Lumiere's departure, the library had somewhat transformed itself under Belle's drive. She had determined they had to go full HQ—or "headquarters," as Mrs. Potts clarified to a dazed Adam—and had covered the walls with maps, the tables with technology to cover and intercept every movement of Lumiere's, and the floors with battle plans and stratagem (courtesy of Chip's toy soldiers). Adam, trying to find a little restive reading before bed, has to climb over a large, clanking machine to reach his books.

"Why was the cheese clever?" he asks. He is trying to be casual, to distract Belle from the fact that his arms aren't quite long enough anymore to reach where he wants them to.

"Because it got Lumiere to swallow our tracking device," says Belle, high-fiving Chip. Adam stops reaching for the book, and thinks, _isn't high-fiving a bit anachronistic?_

Wait a second. " _Tracking_ device?"

"It's only about as big as a pea," says Belle. "But it does the trick. See here," and she pulls out something. It looks rather like a miniature Japanese screen, flat and meant for covering you while you dressed, but then Adam sees that it's showing data—a map of Venice, with a small, blinking orange light moving over its surface. "A bit James-Bond, you know," says Belle, and she flushes with pretend modesty.

"Who's James B—"

"Mamma mia!" says Cadenza. "It's working! It's working!"

Belle is at his side at a second, staring at what, to Adam, looks rather like a disappointing serving-platter. It doesn't have any roast beef on it, certainly—it's just a reflective metal pan, clearly showing—

Showing _Lumiere_. In _Venice_.

"Belle......" Adam knew he was marrying an inventor. He didn't remember the mad-scientist part. "Is this thing showing us Lumiere? Right now? As it's happening?"

"Yup!" says Belle. "Elementary visual recording device. I'm going to call it 'film.' That last flying machine was so small I thought I'd attach something I've been playing with for a while to it—it's called a camera—and well, yes. It floats around him, I doubt he's even noticed it in that crowd. Now we can see what he's up to. And because of the tracking device, we know exactly where he is."

"Done anything else lately?" said Adam. "A little minor hacking of the French monarchy? Maybe broke into the national bank without leaving this room?"

"Oh no, Adam, that's for next week," says Belle. She's not even looking up from the screens and slides around her. "For now, we have to save Lumiere from that mysterious masked figure coming in from his left."

The entire staff tenses and watches the screen. Yes, definitely—the camera zooming around Lumiere can see what he has not yet noticed: he is being followed, most carefully, by a figure masked all in black.

"I hope he knows what he's doing," murmurs Mrs. Potts.

"Oh, don't worry," says Cogsworth. "He never does."


	5. And You Thought I Forgot This Fic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lumiere might die tonight. But this fic is family-friendly, so probably not.

He ducks, miraculously, just in time, and the man who was creeping up behind him falls and lands on nothing. Lumiere does not even notice. He caught a bit of swan down flying out from a window open to a balcony.

He straightens his cravat. So! The kidnapper thought he should hide Plumette. But no dark villainy could hide Plumette's loveliness—nor the feathers that tended to trail behind her.

Without thinking twice—and unaware that thousands of miles away, Cogsworth is groaning: _he hasn't thought twice about this, has he_ —Lumiere makes a sprint up the wall.

He gets up to the balcony's edge with only a small amount of huffing and puffing and having to start over. Nobody even glances at him; it is festival-time in Venice, and madder things have happened. He is at the balcony, now. And he sees the villain's face.

* * *

"Oh!" cries Belle. "He's good-looking. I didn't expect that."

"I told you he was dramatic," says Madame de Garderobe, crooning a little. "Such a lovely man. Besides the kidnapping part."

"Besides that, you fools, does anyone recognize him?" demands Cogsworth. He pushes them all aside to glower at the screen, where Belle's little camera depicts Lumiere, and the balcony, and the man within in his big black cloak.

"Yes," whispers Adam. "Yes, I very much do."

* * *

"Plumette! Plumette! My darling Plumette!"

He meant to make a grand speech, about love and heroism and grim-hearted villainy and the romanticism of it all. But he's forgotten. On the bed, Plumette lights up to see him, and he loses sight of anything else.

She is tied up to a bed post, in a bare, dingy little garret with only a small wash-basin and a hatstand. The room is poor, and dark, but Plumette makes it beautiful to him.

"Oh, mon amour—oh, _chérie—"_ He is running to the bed; he's dropped his swords on the balcony, and he almost has her in his arms. Unfortunately, he's forgotten his hero's cape, the one that billowed so nicely and dramatically when he was questing. It makes him extraordinarily easy to grab from behind now.

"So!" cries the man in the black cloak, stepping from the shadows. "You're her pretty, petty little lover, are you? Simpering fool. She was mine, first."

"I wasn't!" hisses Plumette, from the bed, but she's tied to the bedposts by her corset-strings, and can't pull away. The man in the cloak yanks Lumiere away, and throws him to the floor, and stands between him and Plumette and the swords.

"What a great, grand hero," sneers the man. "And you think you can fight me off? It's the middle of the festival, young man. No one will hear your screams."

* * *

"He's going to win," says Belle, breathless. "He's got to win."  


"He stands no chance." Adam shakes his head. "I know that man. He fights to kill."

"It's hopeless," sighs Cogsworth, "the fool is done for. Oh, my Lumiere."

"Surely we can do _something_ from here!"

"No, no. No mechanical trick of ours can save him now."

* * *

It does look hopeless. The man is stronger than Lumiere, and taller, and more experienced with hand-to-hand combat. Lumiere has skinny fingers and boots that don't quite fit, and he's pinned to the floor, and the man is set to strike a killing blow.  


Until, quite suddenly, he isn't. Something in the corner of the room moves. The hat-stand. 

Chapeau has fists of iron, even as a human. The man doesn't even know what hit him.

"We thought—! You were traveling—" gasps Plumette.

"No," says Chapeau, simply. "I was waiting. _Now_ I am traveling." And he's gone, quite quick, though not before untying Plumette and giving Lumiere a hand up.

"I don't understand that man," says Lumiere, scratching the back of his head. "He's extraordinarily good at being in the right place at the right time. He wasn't the one to kidnap you, was he, my love?"

"No, no, Chapeau is nothing but good," says Plumette. "The cloaked man kidnapped me. I knew him, once, long ago."

"Hmph," says Lumiere. "He's done for, now." And he gives him a little kick.

The wrong idea. The cloaked man—though still reeling from the blows—rises on his feet, and glowers at the two.

"Oh, mon dieu," whispers Lumiere. "I'm afraid I'll have to be a hero."

And Plumette is frightened, too. 


End file.
